


I've Grown So Thick Skinned Lately (but I want to cry)

by scatteringmyashes



Category: Fate/Zero
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Eventual Happy Ending, Guilt, M/M, Self Confidence Issues, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27886627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatteringmyashes/pseuds/scatteringmyashes
Summary: Five times Waver doubted himself and the one time he stood strong.
Relationships: Iskandar | Rider/Waver Velvet
Comments: 1
Kudos: 29





	I've Grown So Thick Skinned Lately (but I want to cry)

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday to my fantastic boyfriend (?!) who is also absolute WaveRider trash with me. I know you already read this but hopefully other WaveRider fans can enjoy it too!
> 
> The title is from "[Thick Skin"](https://open.spotify.com/track/5B6mGVAQsrMMHvMSc4XhOD?si=DDEGOJIlSd6PLAoAHe43cA) by the Bellows and it is very WaveRider. 
> 
> Cheers!

**_One._ **

Waver fell into the bed feeling like every nerve, every atom in his body had been wrung out and left to dry in the summer sun. It wasn’t just the jetlag, nor was it the magic that he had cast to make sure the Mackenzies didn’t have any questions as to who he was. It wasn’t even the fact that he planned on summoning an indescribably powerful spirit in a night. Everything should be fine. He should be fine. He had read about the spell, had painstakingly collected all the components. This was… not simple, but it was academics turned practical. He was always good at the practical. 

He felt like he was going to be sick. 

_ Stupid… The fighting hasn’t even started and you’re already acting like this! What are you going to do when a Servant is trying to kill you? _ Waver squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the palms of his hands into eyelids. His head was pounding.  _ It’s not too late to back out, _ he thought. 

“And go back where?” He asked the empty room. No response came other than a tree rattling against the outside of the house. It made the hair on the back of his neck stick up. The Mackenzies were nice, but next time he needed to stay somewhere he’d pick a place with less disturbing vegetation. 

He sighed. He wanted to sleep, could feel the exhaustion of the last twenty four hours start creeping up on him, but he knew there was no rest in sight. Even without his pulse telling him to resist the allure of slumber, his mind was racing down the rabbit hole. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see Kayneath’s smug face, could hear the laughter of his classmates. All about what, a perfectly valid theory?

No one liked to talk about it, but mage lines were rotten and twisted. Waver knew that. The Association had to know it. But no one wanted to talk about it. They preferred to march towards their doom, content to live the same way they had for centuries and pretending like they would continue for a century more. 

_ And who are you to challenge this? Do you think you are the strongest mage to realize this? You won’t even be the strongest in this War. _ The voice in Waver’s head was loud though, as loud as the mocking voices of his classmates. 

Waver groaned and threw himself out of bed, marching over to his collection of books. They had been a pain to haul through airport security, but he knew they would come in handy. As he usually did when he had difficulty sleeping, he grabbed one at random and started to read. 

The words were familiar, but the lines running through his head were not. “Maybe I should read something else,” he considered aloud. It was hard to distract himself using advanced discussions of transmutative magic in the best of circumstances.

Unwilling to let himself get consumed by the train that was thundering in his consciousness, he went to the only other object he had unpacked so far. 

The metal box was not small, but the scrap of fabric inside was. It was hard to imagine that he could use it, mana, and a bit of chicken blood in order to summon someone who had been dead for… Well, at least a millennia or so. And that person would be bound to listen to his every command, as long as he got along with them, which… 

“No, I will make it work. They will be my Servant and I will be the Master, not the other way around,” Waver hissed. His grip on the box tightened. “I cannot allow anything else. I will not. This is my chance to show them that I am right, that power is more than what is in your blood.”

_ And what if they disagree? What if you are a weak Master? _

Waver grit his teeth. “I will not be weak. I am not weak. Those fools back in the Tower, none of them would have even an ounce of the strength that it takes to do this. They would still be licking Kayneath’s boots. I’m the only one brave enough to fight him.”

Then, of course, the thought that he had so far avoided— 

_ What will happen when you face him? Will you strike down your own teacher? _

The room felt so cold. Waver was from England, but there was a strangeness to the chill in Japan. The wind was different. In that room, the tiny bedroom the Mackenzies had cleared for him, Waver thought he could smell the bitter spray of the ocean taunting him. 

“I’ll deal with that when I get there.” He put the box down. The salt smell disappeared. He swallowed, the tug in his chest still there but less oppressive. 

In a few quick steps, he crossed the room to throw the window open.  _ Strange, _ he thought.  _ The ocean is so far from here. _

He breathed in deep. It wasn’t the right season for cherry blossoms, which made him sad. He always had wanted to see them.  _ When I win, I will come back to see them, _ he thought. Waver tried not to think about what would happen if he lost. 

Waver Velvet did not sleep that night. 

**_Two._ **

_ Lancer… He summoned Lancer! _

Waver’s mind was on one track and it was endless. He vaguely heard himself say something noncommittal to Rider about needing a shower, but he didn’t hear a response from the man, even if he bellowed loud enough to be heard across a football pitch even in his quietest moments. He did flinch when Rider slapped a hand on his shoulder. 

Rider said something else, his mouth moving, but Waver couldn’t have repeated them to save his life. He just scowled, pushed Rider’s hand off, and then went to the bathroom. He tried not to think about how Rider let him do it, how Rider could have pinned him to the floor and demanded answers or a solution or simply  _ something _ from Waver.

Anything to prove that Waver wasn’t an utter failure of a Master who had frozen in fear when confronted with the equivalent of a school bully. Magic war or not, Waver had no excuses for his actions. 

_ Coward… You knew that this could happen, how could you not be prepared? How could anyone respect you after what you did? You should never have done this. _

Drowning himself in the shower seemed like a good idea, so he instead focused on scrubbing his scalp until it burned, because if he held still he was going to lose his mind. 

The real trouble was that Kayneath and Lancer were really just the tip of the iceberg. Certainly, Lancer was a powerful hero, but they all were. Saber was just as strong and Berserker… Well, Waver didn’t feel like too much a coward to admit that he hoped someone else took care of that Heroic Spirit so he didn’t have to. But something about hearing Kayneath’s voice… Knowing that Kayneath knew, that he was intent on getting revenge for denying him the strength and speed of Rider… 

“Dammit!” Waver slammed his fists against the wall of the shower. He tensed, waiting for Rider or one of the Mackenzies to come and investigate. 

Nothing happened. 

Somehow that made him feel even worse. He washed the rest of the conditioner out of his hair, scrubbed behind his ears, and turned the water off. The steam made it hard to breathe, but it obscured the mirror so he didn’t turn the fan on. 

When he went back to his room, Rider was reading through one of the travel guides he had insisted Waver buy. Waver wasn’t in a good enough mood to argue with him and he wanted even less to talk strategy. He didn’t know what he wanted to do next other than sleep for the next ten hours and then make a decision based on whether he was still alive at that point. 

_ You could have died tonight, _ he realized belatedly. He  _ really _ didn’t want to think about how the threat of death was less crisis-inducing than encountering his old teacher. 

There were a few moments of blessed silence. Waver had his back to Rider, toweling off his hair and hoping that he could get through the rest of the night without talking. He wasn’t certain his voice would remain steady enough for a conversation. Then Waver realized that Rider hadn’t turned the page since Waver walked in. 

“What do you want?” He asked, bitterness seeping into his words and covering the cracks in his composer.

More silence. Waver wondered if he had misjudged the situation and found that familiar creeping sensation returning to his stomach.

“You acted with courage tonight, boy. Do not forget that,” Rider said in a low tone.

To his abject horror, Waver burst into tears. In a flash, Rider was sitting next to him, threatening to break the bed under his weight. He hit Waver on the back, sending spasms through his body from the force. 

“Let it out! A good king knows when to express his emotions. It helps remind people that he, too, experiences the same highs and lows as those who follow him!”

  
“S-S-Shut up!” Waver snapped, rubbing at his face. “I’m fine! I don’t — I don’t care what you think.”

“Now, boy, you don’t have to lie to me. Or, if you do, at least make it a good one.” Rider ruffled Waver’s hair, messing it up with complete disregard for Waver’s earlier attempts at good personal hygiene. “You were scared to face that other Master, the one commanding Lancer. We will just have to prove that we are better.” He said it so casually, like someone declaring they would go to the store for some milk. 

“I wasn’t scared,” Waver lied. 

Rider scowled. “What did I just say about lying? If you’re going to try that, at least try to make it believable.” 

“Well, shut up and believe me before I make you!” Waver shouted at him, snapping out of his tears enough to yell at Rider. “I wasn’t scared. I don’t care what that stupid prick thinks. I’m going to win the War and he’s going to eat his words and you are going to help me, because you’re my Servant!” 

He huffed, crossing his arms and turning his back to Rider again. It was hard, the entire bed sunken under Rider’s bulk. Waver squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself not to tremble under Rider’s gaze. It wasn’t like Rider would kill him, even if he just had to sit on Wavec to do that. It wouldn’t be smart. And Rider didn’t seem like the kind of person who would harm someone on his team. Right?

Right?

“Ha. For a moment, I thought you were serious there.” Rider stood. The bed bounced back into place. “Well, you have one thing right. Tomorrow, we start our plan to win this thing. It will be the first step on my glorious conquest of the world!” 

Waver felt the vein in his forehead twitch. “Why did I get the Servant who is hell-bent on world domination? Why couldn’t you just want money or women?”

“Those things come with conquest, boy! Why think small when I can have it all?” Rider stroked his beard. “And, well, not just women.”

“You can’t just say those things!” Waver protested, eyes flying open and face warming. Rider’s face was genuinely confused.

“Why not? I am king of conquerors and if I want to bed someone, it matters not what is between their legs or how they present themselves—”

Waver took it back. Forget Kayneath. The real menace was his own Servant.

**_Three._ **

He wanted to sleep. He wanted to rest and regain his energy so that he and Rider could face the next fight head-on. He wanted to give himself the best chance of making it out.

Waver Velvet was almost certain he wouldn’t make it out. 

It was simple. There were only so many Servants left, only so many Masters commanding them. At this stage, it was a minor miracle in of itself that he had gotten this far. Waver didn’t think it was cowardly to say that he had gotten through by luck, willpower, and the strength of his own Servant. He wasn't even ashamed of that fact anymore. Maybe he would have been not two days ago, but the things he had seen… 

Well, his priorities were a bit different now. Survival was important, yes, but also… Even if he didn’t make it, he had to give Rider the best shot. And that meant conserving as much mana as possible. 

Instead of doing that, though, he was sitting on a rooftop with someone who only cared for him because of a magic spell he had woven not a week prior. 

He sighed. It was far too nice a night to care about these sort of things, but he was not a normal person. Not even in a conceited way. It was neither good nor bad. It just  _ was. _

“Our real grandchildren never came up here, not once,” Glen Mackenzie said, shocking Waver out of his thoughts. He looked at the old man, but he didn’t look angry or upset. He looked… Content. “I was always watching the stars alone… no one wanted to give an old man company.”

Waver didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t see Rider, but he was on the other side of the house patrolling the area. Something told Waver that this would be a peaceful night, at least if he navigated this conversation properly. 

“Hey, Waver… You aren’t my grandson, are you?” 

All thoughts flew from Waver’s head. He tensed, lies and excuses and half-baked jokes all trying to fight to come to the surface, but as Glen kept talking, his tone didn’t change. He didn’t raise his voice or hand. He didn’t make Waver flinch or want to run away. 

He was just talking. 

“You aren’t angry?” Waver asked, surprised at how unafraid of the answer he was. Glen shrugged.

“I could be, but it doesn’t seem like you’ve come here to harm us. Besides, you make Martha happy in a way that I haven’t seen before. So, I suppose I should be thanking the two of you.”  _ The two of you… _ not for the first time, Waver wondered what his magic had convinced the Mackenzie’s of when it came to Rider. He wondered what they would think when he just disappeared. 

Waver didn’t want to think about that and so he didn’t, though he couldn’t hide his reaction when Glen offered to have him stay longer. The first thought he had was happiness, and wasn’t that odd. He wouldn’t mind staying in Japan a little longer, showing Rider the sights once they weren’t under threat of attack—

But that wasn’t how things would go, not even in the best of circumstances.

He looked away, hiding his crests with his bare hand.

“I don’t know if I can promise that,” he said softly. “I don’t even know if I will come back alive.”

Glen nodded. “I don’t know how important this is to you, and I won’t ask. But when you have lived as long as I have, when you look back on your life, you learn that nothing is worth risking your life for.” 

Waver couldn’t meet his eyes. He thought about Rider’s boisterous laughter, about the way he could fill any space just by breathing. He tried to imagine Rider living a quiet life in some English cottage, or Rider trying to fit in around the Clocktower. Something mundane. Boring. 

It didn’t fit. There was nothing that could stop Rider from existing as he was and Waver would never ask him to do that. The Rider — the Iskandar that Waver cared for, that he had slowly started to respect and look up to and even admire? That was a man who spit in the face of fear and who would always risk his life for a little bit more. Maybe Waver should have been disgusted by him, or at the very least disturbed by his nature, but there was something pure and honorable in Rider’s intentions as well. 

_ Whatever happens, this will be over soon. One way or another… We must win. And I must give Rider the best chance of that. _ Waver looked at his hands, the red crests glowing faintly as the sun started to rise. He swallowed. He knew what he had to do. He couldn’t let doubt or fear stop him. 

That would not be befitting the Master of Iskandar, king of conquerors. 

**_Four._ **

The smell of the ocean brought a combination of revulsion, nausea, and a deep sorrow that gnawed on Waver's very soul. It was a beautiful night out. The moon glittered on the waves that beat slowly against the shore, just a low hum underneath the buzz of cars as they zipped over the bridge. No one stopped and stared at the young man who stood there, a book in hand, sweater barely protecting him against the cold night air. 

It was beautiful out and that made it worse.

Waver thought about the last time he stood on this bridge. The city was intact, for one. His hopes for the war were still alive and well. Rider was still alive. At least, as alive as a Heroic Spirit could be. 

_ He was alive to me. More alive than any of these other idiots, _ Waver thought bitterly. He curled around the railing, almost possessively, gritting his teeth as the cold seeped into his chest.  _ What is the point? What happens now? I just go back to the Tower and pretend nothing changed? _

No, that wasn’t what Rider would have wanted. Wouldn’t be fitting for a servant of Iskandar, king of conquerors, to go sniveling home like a coward. But the alternative — face his peers? Go back to class and know that he was, one way or another, responsible for the death of his own mentor? 

Kayneath was a bastard, but to be  _ dead _ ? While Waver Velvet, a mage of no great power, was alive? It was enough to make anyone curious. 

_ What are you scared of, boy? You faced some of the greatest warriors in any era and you are scared of a bit of gossip? Ha! I thought I taught you better than that. _

Waver squeezed his eyes shut. He felt the sting of tears and felt a clench in his heart. No matter how he might imagine it, he would never hear Iskandar again. He’d never listen to his booming laugh or stand in awe as his presence filled a room. He would have to hold onto the memories he could. The physical reminders were easy. He could keep the stupid shirt, could keep the ridiculous video games and the piles of books. 

But the reminders of  _ who  _ Iskandar was… 

How could a single human ever capture that? 

How could Waver, a mere mortal incapable of organizing his own thoughts let alone a campaign or movement, possibly live a life that Iskandar would be proud of? 

The sheer enormity of the task in front of him could crush anyone, so perhaps Waver could be forgiven for wanting to laugh and fall into hysterics the longer he thought of it. Of course Iskandar would require something larger than life — it was the only thing fitting him. And Waver had no intention of rescinding his offer, but he could have picked something else. Anything else, really. 

“How can I live up to your legacy?” Waver asked the night sky. “How can I be as great as you, someone who inspired thousands and carved his path in history?” There was no answer. Just the gentle hum of the ocean slowly pounding against the beach. 

_ The ocean… Of course! _

Waver stood up. He squared his shoulders, hands drawing into fists. 

“I might not be worthy of joining you yet, Iskandar, but I will. Even if it takes my whole life, I will find out what it takes. And when I stand by your side next, you will be proud of me. I’ll make you acknowledge me as your peer. Only then will I be content to join you!” No one heard his words, but for a moment he could have sworn he heard Iskandar’s laughter in the distance.

**_Five._ **

He looked at his notes. They were neatly printed, each section labeled with the important parts in bold and a few portions even highlighted. Waver hadn’t prepared this well for anything in years, not since he summoned Rider. It had been so much time that he couldn’t even remember the exact incantation. The most important event of his life and he couldn’t remember how it started! It was ridiculous. 

And now he was Lord El-Melloii II, professor and Lord at the Clocktower, no longer just a basic student struggling through his books and theories. Did anyone believe in him now? Not many more than before. 

Waver sighed. Class started in half an hour. There wasn’t anyone else there yet. Wouldn’t be for some time, he would imagine. That didn’t make him feel any better. 

“On Magic Bloodlines And The Implications Thereof,” he read off his paper. He glanced at the chalkboard. Was it too pretentious to write the name of his lecture on the board? Would he even be able to reach as far as he needed? Though he was no longer the short beansprout Waver who fought in the War, he was not yet tall enough to brag about it. 

Some things, he knew, were really out of his control. 

_ If I cannot do it well, I can always erase it, _ he thought. Waver took up a piece of chalk, turning it around in his hand. Carefully, praying that his hand would not shake, he started to write on the board. About halfway, he stopped, frowning at the lines he had drawn. Was it just him, or were his letters starting to slope upwards? Would it be worth trying again? 

The letters did not provide any answers, silent and still. Light filtered in from the windows, stained yellow by aged glass. The seats were empty. Dust hid in the corners along with forgotten books and someone’s bag. In another life, Waver was the one sitting in the seats. He was the one hurriedly taking notes or raising his hand with a question. 

The chalkboard stared at him, his half-finished phrase definitely curving upwards. 

“This is stupid,” he decided. 

The door opened and someone stuck their head in. “Is this Runes and Glyphs 301?” The student asked. 

“No, that’s three doors down.” Waver gestured with his free hand. The student nodded and scurried away without even giving thanks. Waver rolled his eyes.  _ Am I really going to spend the rest of my life teaching imbeciles how to use magic? What a waste of time… _ But there was only one way to maintain access to all the magical knowledge of the Tower, and that was to be a teacher. 

And if he could still have access to that knowledge then he could study and become a better mage… be someone worthy of following Iskandar. That was why Waver couldn’t just leave, no matter how much he wanted to do so. 

Someone knocked on the door. A young man with blond hair stuck his head in. 

“H-Hello? Are you Lord El-Melloi?” 

“The second.”

“Huh?” The kid blinked.

“I am lord El-Melloi the Second. It is important to remember the full title.” Waver crossed his arms. “What do you want?” 

“I’m here for class!” The kid grinned. “I am—”

“You’re early,” Waver told him. “Take a seat. We haven’t started yet.” He went back to shuffling and reshuffling his notes. He had a growing sinking sensation, a sense that this would be harder than the entirety of the Holy Grail War. 

_ Iskandar, give me strength, _ he thought. More students started to come in, walking in twos and threes, huddled together in packs like nervous fish. Waver tried not to stare and refused to listen to the whispers. It was all things he had heard already. 

_ One class. Just get through this and then you will be done lecturing for a month. If it goes horribly and they all hate you, then you will not need to teach for even longer. _ The thought didn’t do much to cheer him. 

Five minutes to the hour, he slapped his hand on the table. 

“We will begin now,” he said. “Now, who can tell me how many great mage families there are?” 

**_Plus One._ **

The sound of the ocean filled his ears before he even had a chance to open his eyes. He knew he should be soaked and freezing, but it was warm enough that he wasn’t shivering. The young man once known as Waver Velvet, now Lord El-Melloi II to almost all, blinked. In front of him, half-clouded by heavy mist, was a man. 

“Boy!” The word, so simple yet haunting his every moment, rang out in the ethereal space. “Are you coming over here?” It was him, but it couldn’t be. Lord El-Melloi had tried everything. He had dedicated most of his studies to solving a problem no one else had ever had. Every time he came up with nothing and was reduced to waiting and watching others suceed where he could not. 

No, this could not be real. Lord El-Molloi couldn’t comprehend it if it was. 

“This is just a dream,” he said. “An illusion that my mind has created from memories and thoughts.” 

“Ha! It appears that you finally can speak properly,” Rider laughed. A sharp bite of defensiveness hit Lord El-Melloi.

“Of course I can,” he replied, stepping forward in the water. “I’m a teacher now. It is what I do.” The water was easy to move through even though it came up to his ankles. Rider’s eyes widened as he approached.

“A teacher? To think that is what you would choose. You even have lines on your face from scowling all the time,” he noticed, his own eyebrows furrowing as he noticed. Lord El-Melloi resisted the urge to scowl in response, instead seeing the gleam in Rider’s eyes for the jest that was intended. 

“Life goes on,” Lord El-Melloi said instead, keeping his voice light even as his heart threatened to beat out of his chest. He couldn’t feel his fingers. He couldn’t blink. “Even though the War is over, we still continue.” He glanced at his hands. They were covered by gloves, but though it had been years and years he could still remember the exact shape of his crests. 

He thought about how reckless he had been, stealing a holy relic and going to a country where he didn’t speak the language in order to participate in a War that he had only read about in passing and where most of the competitors ended up dying. If he could, he would do it all again. He would give anything to stand by Iskandar once more, to ride out in glorious battle for all eternity.

And yet… 

“Maybe I have changed a little, but maybe I haven’t. Who can say? But I do know that I am not ready to be by your side yet!” His voice was steady. He was not a child anymore, nor even a young professor still learning Clocktower politics. He was no pawn of the Melloi Family and he was not some meek Velvet son. He was more than that and could still be greater. “Because the pain of the path and the glory at its end cannot be won just anywhere. I need to seek it out myself and prove my worth on my own, on my own battlefield.” 

Lord El-Melloi stepped forward, his eyes meeting Iskandar’s in defiance. Iskandar nodded, closing his eyes briefly. 

“I see.” His eyes flashed open and, for a moment, Waver saw himself reflected back. “Well, answer me this, boy. Are you at least having fun?” 

And the dam holding his tears broke and Waver Velvet found himself crying even as he smiled.

“Of course I have, Rider. This is, after all, to follow your legacy.” And he had never felt so certain in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Twitter.](https://twitter.com/ashes8012)


End file.
